


what we owe to each other

by theheartofthekoko



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Aromantic Margo Hanson, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, brief allusions to overdosing and drug use, copious amounts of drinking and hand holding, the good place AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:00:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28726980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheartofthekoko/pseuds/theheartofthekoko
Summary: “We’re going to make you belong,” he says with a surety he doesn’t feel. “It’ll be okay, Eliot.”“…thanks, but what the fuck are you talking about?”“You don’t belong here.” Quentin strides up to Eliot, puts his hands on his shoulders, and looks up into his eyes. “I’m a moral philosophy professor, we can fix this. We’re going to make you belong. I’ll teach you how, okay?”Eliot tries to back away, eyes widening, but Quentin clutches him tighter, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders. Eliot shifts his eyes to the side but stops retreating. Quentin counts it as a win. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to start a relationship to try and change the other person?”Or: the good place au
Relationships: Kady Orloff-Diaz/Julia Wicker, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	what we owe to each other

Eliot looks across the desk at the woman smiling brightly at him and feels his shoulders ease, just a bit. The last thing he remembers is falling asleep in some rich socialite’s bed, and then he’d woken up here, alone. But now here’s this woman, and she’s smiling at him like maybe everything will be alright.

“You, Eliot Waugh, are dead,” she says.

Oh. Maybe it isn’t all right after all. He tries to think back to last night, but it all feels fuzzy, hazed over with cocaine and sex and—that explains it. He’d been testing his limits. Clearly, he’d found them. Either he really is dead, or he’s currently experiencing the worst drug trip of his life.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, standing up to reach across the table to shake his hand firmly, smile turning awkward and wry. “I’m Alice Quinn, the architect of this neighborhood. Follow me, won’t you?”

He follows her, listening intently as she talks about what a good person he’d been in life, how he was one of the easiest cases to send to the good place she’s ever seen, about how he’d worked tirelessly in third world countries he’s never even heard of to help sick children he’s never met. That…wasn’t his life. Eliot nods and lets Alice show him around, explaining the point system that had gotten him here in life, rather than the bad place.

The neighborhood is bright, full of laughing people, sunshine-kissed streets, kitschy shops Eliot would have never been caught dead in while alive, and not a speck of grime in sight. Eliot finds himself being smiled at more within ten minutes than he probably had been in his entire life. It’s putting him on edge, but he dutifully smiles back tightly at everyone he sees.

“And this is your house!” Alice says brightly, gesturing to a tiny little wooden cottage that’s just about the opposite of everything Eliot has ever wanted. “Isn’t it just to die for?”

“Yes,” Eliot says, eyes straying to his right where a behemoth of a mansion sits towering over his tiny new home.

“There’s someone inside that I’d like you to meet.” He follows Alice inside, grimacing at all the wood paneling. He’d kill for a nice, burgundy wallpaper, but this is his lot in life. Or afterlife. Whatever. A man jumps up from a soft-looking loveseat when they walk in. Alice gestures to him. “This is Quentin Coldwater. Your soulmate.” Eliot’s breath catches.

***

Quentin fidgets with his hands, wringing them out self-consciously before pulling himself together and striding toward Alice and the man (it’s his soulmate, his soulmate) to shake his hand.

“Hi,” he says, blushing at the once-over he’s getting. “I’m Quentin.”

“Eliot.”

An awkward silence descends as the two of them gaze at each other. Quentin’s palms begin to sweat at the clear interest in Eliot’s eyes. He looks down at his shoes, cheeks growing brighter.

Alice clears her throat, “Eliot was a doctor for underprivileged children in third world countries when he was alive,” she says, looking at Quentin before shifting her gaze back to Eliot. “Quentin here was a moral philosophy professor at NYU.” When still, neither of them says anything, Alice continues. “Well, I’ll leave you two to get to know each other.”

The sound of the door clicking shut behind her is deafening. Quentin can’t seem to stop staring at his shoes. Eliot’s just so worldly, handsome, and sophisticated, and he’s…just Quentin. How did he get here, in this place, with this man? What had he done? Was it a trap of some kind? He was just a professor, and Eliot seems like he’s so much more. 

“Where’s the alcohol in this place?” Eliot askes.

Quentin looks at him, wide eyed., but this situation couldn’t get much worse so, “Julia?”

Eliot jumps when Julia appears in the room right next to him. Quentin smiles, utterly charmed. “This is Julia,” he says. “Alice said she’s the helper here in the good place and can get you pretty much anything.” 

“Hi, welcome to the good place!” Julia says brightly.

Eliot eyes the girl (robot? magical construct?) in front of him before demanding, “Two Manhattan’s, pronto,” When they appear on the coffee table in front of the loveseat, he says, “and keep them coming.”

Quentin mutters a quiet “thank you,” just before Julia disappears from the room with a cheerful goodbye. Eliot picks up both drinks, offers one to Quentin, and clinks them together, raising his in a silent toast before downing the whole thing in one go. Another appears on the coffee table. He picks that one up as well.

“To new beginnings,” Eliot says, drinking this one down only marginally slower than his first.

Feeling uncomfortable, Quentin silently sips his own drink, watching Eliot get drunk with a fervor that points to countless hours of experience. He’s only known his soulmate for about ten minutes, but Quentin can’t help the worry gnawing at his gut.

***

Eliot feels floaty as Quentin shuffles him awkwardly into bed, pulling off shoes and straightening his legs before pulling the covers up over him. The world is spinning—he’s pretty sure the only thing keeping him tethered to this plane is Quentin’s hands tucking him in, so when Quentin makes to leave their bedroom, Eliot whines and pulls at his hand pitifully.

“Stay?” he asks.

Quentin pauses, still facing the open door. Eliot’s sure he’ll pull his hand free and walk away, but his shoulders slump and he sighs out a quiet, “okay.”

Eliot drops his hand unsurely and fuzzily watches Quentin pull off his jacket and shoes, turn off the light, and slip into the other side of the bed. Eliot reaches around blindly for his hand, the panic that has been steadily building without it immediately dying off as soon as he clutches it to his own chest. “If you don’t hold my hand, I think I’ll float away.”

“You’re fine, Eliot,” Quentin says with a laugh, “you’re just drunk.”

Eliot pulls Quentin’s hand up to his face, kisses the center of his palm without a second thought, and smiles dreamily. “You’re too good for me.”

Quentin sighs—Eliot doesn’t like how much he makes the other man do that—and reaches out to pet his hair in the dark. “No, I’m not. We’re in the good place. That means we’re both just as good as each other, doesn’t it?”

Eliot feels his gut curdle. He sits up, head swimming violently in his skull, panic bubbling. “Quentin,” he says desperately, talking over the other man when he tries to shush him, “I don’t belong here! I’m not supposed to be here!”

“Of course, you are,” Quentin soothes, still trying to pet his hair in the dark.

“No! I’m not a doctor! I didn’t do any of that.”

The silence in the dark is pointed. Eliot feels his heartbeat enter his throat, choking him.

“What do you mean?” Quentin asks, dropping his hand from Eliot’s hair.

In turn, Eliot clutches his hand even tighter, terrified that Quentin will leave, and then he’ll be alone in the dark, drifting. “I’m just a bartender from California! I don’t even know where New Guinea is! I’ve never been, Quentin. What do I do?”

Quentin doesn’t answer. Eliot wishes he could see his face. He reaches his hand out to try to feel out his expression like blind people always do on TV, but his hand is shaking and clumsy. It doesn’t work to muddle out his expression, but Quentin doesn’t push him away. That’s something, at least.

“What do I do, Quentin?” he asks again.

Quentin pulls him back down to the mattress with a sigh, thankfully not tugging his hand back. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

Eliot falls asleep to Quentin’s thumb rubbing soothing circles into the back of his hand.

***

Quentin paces around the living room, thinking. It’s a small space, so he only takes about eight steps before he’s forced to pivot and do it all again. In the other room, Eliot’s still sleeping off the alcohol, and Quentin can’t stop thinking.

Should he tell Alice? Would that be a betrayal to his soulmate? Is that even his soulmate? Eight steps. Pivot. Should he try to help Eliot to belong, make him better? Is that even possible? Eight steps. Pivot. Does he have a moral obligation to help him? Eight steps. Pivot. He ruthlessly suppresses the part of him that wonders, if Eliot doesn’t belong here, maybe he doesn’t either. After all, they’re soulmates, a package deal. What does that mean for Quentin? What does—no. Eight steps. Pivot.

What’s he supposed to do? He’s in paradise and more scared than he’s ever been of doing the wrong thing. “Are you okay?” Quentin whirls, and there Eliot is. He looks hungover, wrung out. Tired. His eyes are puffy from sleep and emotion. His hands are shaking, just a little, as if all the emotion he’s forcing himself not to show has landed there as he raises his chin, squares his shoulders, and looks Quentin straight in the eyes like he’s the firing squad. And suddenly, Quentin just can’t.

We’re going to make you belong,” he says with a surety he doesn’t feel. “It’ll be okay, Eliot.”

“…thanks, but what the fuck are you talking about?”

“You don’t belong here.” Quentin strides up to Eliot, puts his hands on his shoulders, and looks up into his eyes. “I’m a moral philosophy professor, we can fix this. We’re going to make you belong. I’ll teach you how, okay?”

Eliot tries to back away, eyes widening, but Quentin clutches him tighter, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders. Eliot shifts his eyes to the side but stops retreating. Quentin counts it as a win. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to start a relationship to try and change the other person?”

Quentin can’t help it. He laughs.

***

Quentin’s just settled on an old-school chalkboard in the front of the room, a piece of chalk gripped in his hand as he taps it on his chin, looking contemplative, when there are three sharp raps at the front door. Eliot leaps up, his long-forgotten instincts to get out of class whenever possible, as fast as possible, already acting up. God, this was going to be a disaster. When he opens the door, the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen is standing on the other side in an immaculate coral ball gown. Eliot’s not sure if he wants to befriend her or be her.

Before he has time to figure it out, she’s striding past him into their house, spinning to eye the décor with a raised eyebrow. “…cozy,” she says, not bothering to hide her disdain.

Eliot looks back at Quentin just in time to see him shrink into himself, shoulders hunching to his ears and feels his hackles rise. Sure, this place might be a shithole, but it’s their shithole. Who does this lady think she is? ‘And you are?” he asks, turning back to her with the most judgmental expression he can pull off.

She smiles angelically, dimpling prettily as if she hadn’t just been an asshole. His hatred for her grows. “I’m Margo Hanson.” She tucks a perfectly curled strand of hair behind her ear and looks between them. “Your next-door neighbor.” Oh, she’s in that behemoth of a house that Eliot’s already jealously coveting even before he’s set foot inside it. That makes sense.

“Margo?” Quentin asks. “Margo Hanson? The philanthropist?”

“That’s me.” She walks over to Quentin, pulls his hand into hers, and puts it to her lips—Eliot’s hatred for her only grows. “And you are?”

Quentin stutters around his words, but eventually gets out introductions for both himself and Eliot. Margo smiles indulgently, patting his cheek condescendingly. 

“Well, this has been fun, boys,” she says, sauntering back to the front door, the skirt of her dress swaying hypnotically with every step, “but I can see when I’m unwelcome.”

She winks at them both and shuts the door behind her. Eliot just stares at it, flummoxed.

“I hate her,” he says decisively.

Quentin just laughs. Eliot smiles

“No, you don’t,” Quentin says. “Now, can we get back to it? I’ve got homework ideas for you, and there will be tests. It’s going to be so fun!”

He turns around to see that Quentin has written “PLATO” in big bold letters at the top of the chalkboard. He settles back on the couch with a sigh and turns his attention to Quentin. This is going to be a long day.

***

Margo opens her own front door, sighing when she sees Kady at the dining room table, eating brunch. With a deep breath, she heads over, determined to make the best of this terrible situation. “What’s up, babe?” she says, sitting as far away from her as she could at the large table.

In response, Kady grunts, spearing a piece of cantaloupe and chewing it slowly. She doesn’t even look up. Margo taps her knuckles on the table. Once, twice, three times. No response. “Good talk.” She gets up to lock herself in the guest bedroom she’d immediately claimed as her own instead of the beautiful master bedroom. But sacrifices have to be made it seems, even in the good place.

Once behind closed doors, she drops onto the bed, dress pooling around her. It’s only the second day of the afterlife, and everything already seems so complicated. She’s got a soulmate she can’t love—will never love no matter how hard she tries—and Kady hasn’t seemed at all interested in her either, just answers all questions with grunts and one-word answers. No one else in this godforsaken place seems to like her, either. She’d gone around town to introduce herself, and everyone’s been snooty and holier than thou to the point where she’d given up and come back to the unloving arms of her unwanted soulmate.

She may not have been a saint while alive, but she deserves more than this meaningless existence. She’d raised more money for charity than anyone she knew, and sure, maybe she’d overindulged in carnal pleasures and party favors, but her net sum of goodness still equaled out in the positive range—being here proves it.

She deserves better than this, and if this place isn’t going to give her a happy ending, she’ll create her own. First things first: she has a party to throw. She stands from the bed, determination sparking within her once more. Margo isn’t a quitter, and she’ll show them all what she’s made of.

***

Kady watches her house transform into party central through Julia’s power and Margo’s iron fist. She sips her shitty beer and doesn’t lift a finger to help. Margo hasn’t made an effort with her since she’d found herself in this place she wasn’t supposed to be, misidentified as an animal rights activist instead of who she was. She’d been in and out of police lockups, surfing from one couch to another, never settling much less standing up for something. Not that she’s going to tell Alice that and get sent to the bad place. 

And now here she is, living a rich girl’s dream with the most well-known rich girl she’s ever heard of: Margo Hanson. The party girl, the philanthropist, the socialite. This isn’t her life, and it made no sense for it to be her death. She doesn’t want to spend the rest of eternity in this catastrophically huge house with a soulmate who clearly thinks she’s better than her, pretending to be the kind of person whose house she would have egged when she’d been alive.

But what alternative is there?

***

The party is in full swing, and Margo’s fairly sure that the entire neighborhood is mingling around her living room, smiling and laughing. Despite this, Margo’s leaning against the wall in the corner, alone. Everyone had come up to her, as is polite for the host of a party, but other than that, she’s been largely left by the wayside. She looks down into her martini, sipping it with a sigh.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone in a place like this?”

After successfully suppressing her surprised jump, she glances to the side to see Eliot leaning against the wall beside her, a smirk plastered across his face, looking for all the world like he’s been there the entire time.

“And here I thought you hated me,” she replies, smiling in victory at the way his face falls.

“You heard that, did you?” he asks, taking a gulp of his drink and no longer meeting her eyes.

The conversation dawdles, and Margo finds herself regretting her words. Despite his rude behavior, Eliot seems fun, exciting and real in a way no one else has been so far in this place. And he’d come up to her when no one else has after their initial greetings. Before she can work herself up even more, Eliot interrupts the stilted silence.

“To be fair, you were flirting with my soulmate.”

Margo laughs. “What, you can’t take a little competition?”

Eliot glares over at her, but she can’t seem to stop grinning. “Well, turnabout's fair play. Where’s your soulmate so I can put my moves on them?”

Margo looks around the room until she finds Kady, still sitting on the couch, drinking a beer and eating pretzels while Quentin tries to talk to her. With each word he says, looking earnest and pleased, Kady looks more and more murderous. “She’s over there on the couch and looks like she’s about ready to murder your boy.”

Eliot turns to look where she’s pointing, smiling fondly. Margo feels a jealous curl in her stomach at how much he and Quentin are clearly clicking in ways that she’s just not with Kady. She’d never wanted anything like that in the past, but something about being paired off like cattle, each person sorted into their own little soulmate pod has left her on edge. After all, if everyone has their soulmate, what use is she?

“Shouldn’t you go save him?” she asks.

Eliot’s still smiling over at Quentin but makes no move to walk away. “Nah, he can handle himself.” He looks over at her, ignores her doubtful expression, and asks, “how about a drinking game? Might liven you up a bit.”

Margo feels something alarmingly like hope unfurl in her stomach. “You’re going down, Waugh.”

***

The party’s in full swing, and Kady reluctantly admits to herself that she’s having fun. Quentin had wandered over to talk to her almost an hour ago—she’s purposefully ignoring the way Eliot and Margo are laughing uproariously together in the corner, hands held up in what looks like an evenly split game of never have I ever—and he’s been showing her magic tricks ever since. She’d demanded he show her how to do the one where it looked like he’d removed his entire thumb, and he’d complied. When she finally succeeds, he laughs, bright eyes and secondhand joy on his face as he pulls her into a celebratory hug. She’s unfortunately charmed by the little nerd boy.

“What are you two hooligans up to?” Eliot asks, sinking down next to Quentin on the couch, arm slung around him in a way that makes Kady immediately feel like a third wheel. It doesn’t get better when Margo sits gingerly on her other side, not making eye contact—she can’t even tell which one of their faults it is any more.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Quentin replies, smiling up at him and settling into his side like he belongs there already. “I saw you and Margo over there drinking enough for the whole party.”

Eliot laughs, carefree and happy. The envy curdling Kady’s stomach only grows. Margo clears her throat. Kady turns to look at her. She looks uncomfortable, at odds with the confident life of the party that’s been flitting around the house all day.

“Are you enjoying the party?” Margo asks.

Kady raises her eyebrows. “No thanks to the host of the party not even asking if it was okay to throw it in my house.” She tries to throw in all the haughty condescension into her voice that someone living this rich girl life would hold. The beer cans and cheese puffs scattered on the coffee table in front of her sort of negate the whole thing, but by the way Margo winces, she doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’m,” Margo starts, then trails off to look down at her knees. “I’m—sorry.”

Kady wants to be mad, wants to be furious at the woman with the silver spoon in her mouth, but Margo looks so ashamed. She pats her shoulder awkwardly, ignoring the way Margo sort of cringes away from her touch. “It’s a pretty good party.”

Margo smiles, and it’s like the clouds parting. Kady swallows the rest of her beer in three long gulps. “Can I get you another drink?” Margo asks, getting up and striding toward the kitchen with purposeful steps before she has a chance to answer. She slumps back into the couch, ignoring the way Eliot and Quentin are still completely wrapped around each other, not having even seemed to notice Margo walking away.

“Are these people really better than me?” Eliot asks, gazing toward a group of laughing partygoers to their left in a voice that’s supposed to be quiet but is decidedly not.

“Yes,” Quentin says in a much better whisper. The next few words are impossible to parse beyond a quiet murmur in Kady’s ear.

“So, that means I should go to the bad place, does it?” Eliot asks, this whisper more akin to a shout. Kady sinks into the couch and hopes she’s not noticed for a multitude of reasons, ranging from the awkwardness of being pulled into their fight to the fluttering of her stomach that maybe she’s not the only one whose been wrongly assigned. “Well, I’m not going!”

Quentin’s rubbing his arm soothingly. Eliot’s previously hunched shoulders lower. That same almost-jealousy curdles in Kady’s stomach. “We’ll make you belong, okay?” Margo returns just as Quentin kisses Eliot’s cheek, and Kady turns toward her, relieved to have been forgotten. The rest of the party passes in quiet companionship between the four of them. Kady wonders if maybe everything might end up okay.

***

Days pass, and Kady’s boredom grows. Margo’s gone back to largely ignoring her presence with a skittish air more reminiscent of a cat than Margo herself. Kady’s seen her talk to others around the village, confident and sly, but she’s never like that with Kady. She’s a shadow, stuttering and silent and always fleeing to somewhere where Kady isn’t. It’s—lonely.

She’s taken to calling Julia over to ask for things she doesn’t want or need just to have a quick conversation with someone, just to have someone smile at her, and that’s a level of sad that she’d never reached while alive and it can’t stand. Something’s gotta give or she’s going to try to off herself just to get away from how pathetic it all is.

That’s all it takes for her to get up from the couch and leave the house for the first time in days, marching off to the nearest neighbor’s house and banging on the door too loudly to be polite. Eliot looks almost afraid when he opens the door, but she doesn’t hesitate to shove him out of the way and storm in. It’s about the forward momentum she hasn’t had since she died.

“By all means, why don’t you burst in,” Eliot says, with a mocking bow after closing the front door behind her.

Kady bites down on a smile. Eliot’s quickly becoming her favorite person here, just by being the biggest jackass he can be. It’s refreshing. She crosses her arms, raises an eyebrow, and does her best to be intimidating. She can tell it works when Eliot takes an aborted step backwards. “So, you don’t belong here.”

This time he does stumble back, eyes wide, and skin going ashy grey and unnaturally pale. She almost feels bad. “Wh—what do you mean?”

“Oh, come on. It’s not like you were all that quiet at Margo’s party. You should watch your drinking, or you might just go and blab to the wrong person.”

“What do you want?” he asks, taking a step forward that’s clearly supposed to be menacing, but Eliot still looks like a solid poke to his chest would knock him over.

Kady looks down at her nails, pretending to buff them on her shirt. “I’m bored,” She looks up at him with a predator’s smile that’s been known to make lesser men weep. Eliot firms his jaw and glares at her. She adds a couple points to her estimation of his character and decides to be kind. “All these goody two shoes are boring, Eliot. There’re no explosions, not even a shitty skate park, no weed. Everyone’s too busy being nice. Don’t you think it’s boring?”

Eliot’s staring at her. “Weren’t you one of those goody two shoes?” he asks. “You’re with your people now, go mingle.”

With a dramatic sigh, she slumps down on his couch. “If Alice made one mistake, don’t you think she could make two?”

Eliot’s still staring. The seconds tick by until finally he slumps onto the couch beside her, still staring. “You’re not supposed to be here either,” he says, like it’s a revelation.

Kady grins. “What do you say, Eliot? You wanna fuck shit up?”

Eliot grins right back.

***

Quentin opens his front door and hears laughing. He smiles, indescribably fond of the man he now shares his home with. But then he actually enters the house and sees it: Kady and Eliot hovering over the kitchen table and laughing, a tower of fireworks pointing straight at the unsuspecting ceiling, with Julia smiling placidly in the background.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demands, harsh in ways he usually tries not to be.

Eliot and Kady both whip their heads in his direction. Kady’s still smiling, but Eliot’s eyes have gone panicked and wide. Good. “It’s not what it looks like!” he says, taking a few stuttering steps Quentin’s way before turning to Julia with a faux whisper, “cut the fireworks, Julia.”

Quentin crosses his arms. “Oh? Then what is it?” Eliot fidgets with his hands in an uncharacteristic show of chagrin. Quentin turns his glare to Kady who is now pouting at the now empty table. “Well?”

She sighs explosively before slumping into a wooden chair with a sigh. “We were going to blow the roof off this place. Thanks for ruining it Sergeant Killjoy.”

“What?” he asks, voice turning panicked and shrill. He spins to face Julia, finger raised in accusation. “And you were going to let them?”

She shrugs, an air of innocence shrouding her that he could no longer trust after this latest debacle. “They were very persuasive. Besides, I made the ceiling flame retardant!”

Quentin pinches the bridge of his nose. He could expect this sort of behavior from Eliot, but Kady? Julia? Weren’t they supposed to be better? “Can I talk to you alone, Eliot?”

Eliot follows him into the other room, wincing when Quentin shuts it with more force than he means to. “What the fuck, Eliot?”

“I can explain—”

“How could you get Kady involved in these shenanigans of yours?”

“Did you just say shenanigans like some boring old man?”

Quentin suppresses a laugh, trying to keep his voice severe and face straight but it’s hard with Eliot being so ridiculous. “Couldn’t you at least wait until I was home to pull this? You had to go pull your friend into this?”

“Hey, she’s no spring chicken!”

“—spring what?”

“She’s not like you, Quentin. She’s like me.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to—”

“Like me, Quentin!”

Quentin stares at Eliot, whose eyes are wide and almost afraid. Kady’s like Eliot? What does that even mean? Unless…” She’s not supposed to be here?”

“She’s not supposed to be here.”

“Shit.” Quentin says, falling back into the door, shocked. The doorknob digs painfully into his spine. “Does she know about you?” Eliot bites his lip, looking down at his shoes. “Is she going to say anything?”

“Why would she?”

Quentin can’t help the way he melts at the worry in Eliot’s eyes. This is his soulmate. He can’t just leave him to suffer. He pulls Eliot into a hug, arms around his waist, Eliot’s winding around his neck after a moment’s hesitation, squeezing tight. “We’ll figure it out, okay?” Eliot nods against his shoulder, and Quentin hopes against hope that he’s not lying.

***

Kady joins their little study group with minimal needling after it becomes clear that Eliot will no longer be allowed to fuck shit up with her. She briefly considered trying to sway him to her side, but one look at the besotted smile he sends Quentin’s way is enough to show her the futility of that attempt.

So, now here she is, sitting on the couch next to Eliot, watching Quentin prattle on about moral philosophy. He’d handed her a syllabus for god’s sake. How much of a nerd is he exactly? And what does that say about Eliot’s own character if they’ve been paired off as soulmates? Although, she’s got Margo as a soulmate, so best not to throw stones in glass houses.

“Are you even listening?” Quentin demands, hands on hips as he glares down at her from his spot in the front of the living room.

“I’m just not sure what I’m getting out of this,” she says.

“How about being saved from eternal damnation?”

Eliot laughs, and Kady tries to smile along with him, but her gut twists at the thought. She hadn’t even considered it before they’d ambushed her with the point of their little class. “Fair enough,” she says, straightening in her seat and doing her best to look studious and dutiful. Eliot laughs even harder, so she doubts it works. Quentin turns back to the chalkboard with a roll of his eyes and an indulgent little smile thrown Eliot’s way.

“Now, according to Kant, we must all live by an unwavering moral code, no matter the justifications. With this, we’d all operate under a stringent set of rules, where say, stealing a loaf of bread for a starving child has the exact same moral consequences as stealing just because you want to, not that you need to. There are no justifications for your actions. You’ve just done a bad thing.”

“This bitch is probably the one who would’ve sentenced us to the bad place,” Kady says with an elbow to Eliot’s ribs.

“He also believed we had a moral imperative to help others, so that’s got me on your side. Don’t badmouth Kant.” Quentin’s eyes turn flinty and hard when he says this, as if he truly is ready to throw down over some old dead guy who he’s never met.

Kady smiles beatifically up at him. He glares her down but continues his spiel on moral imperatives. Kady does her best to pay attention, but school hadn’t ever been her strong suit, and it wasn’t now either. She’s always been much better with hands on things. Beside her, Eliot’s eyes have glazed over, even while they’re still fixed on the chalkboard Quentin’s writing on. Kady settles back into the couch and resigns herself to an extremely boring afternoon followed by an even lonelier evening. Why was she trying so hard to stay in the good place again?

***

They’re on their sixth lesson when a knock at the door has them all freezing. Quentin looks at them both wide eyed, Eliot looking right back, both frozen like deer in headlights before Kady finally whispers “Julia?” as quietly as possible. Eliot’s glad someone’s taking charge because all he can seem to do is stare at Quentin in terror. “Can you get rid of the chalkboard? And all our papers?”

Julia does it with nary a blink, Eliot sighs in relief as she blinks away with everything else. He looks around, reaffirming that anything incriminating is gone and gets up to go answer the door while Quentin vaults over next to Kady on the couch, crossing his legs in what he clearly thinks is casual. Eliot doesn’t point out that he looks far too stiff to pull it off, just smiles reassuringly at him and pulls the door open.

Alice bursts in before the doors even all the way open, eyes glistening with unshed tears and hands wringing in front of her as she shuffles in. “Eliot, Quentin, I have terrible news.” She stutters to a stop when she sees Kady, a small smile blooming on her face. “Oh, and Kady, lovely to see you making friends. Where’s your better half?”

Kady grimaces but dutifully answers. “She’s decided on a quiet day in.” He wonders if that’s true. He hasn’t seen her in a while. “What’s wrong?”

Alice sits on the coffee table, crossing her legs primly and much more naturally than Quentin, smoothing down her skirt and dabbing at her eyes with a hanky she’s pulled from somewhere unknown. “Oh, it’s just awful! I’m a failure, a fraud. What will I do?” She looks at all of them beseechingly.

Eliot clears his throat awkwardly after a prolonged silence. “Perhaps if you told us what was wrong?”

“Oh, yes. Yes of course.” She’s still dabbing at her eyes, even though they’re now dry and no tears actually escaped. Eliot can’t help but uncharitably compare her to an untalented actress. Maybe she was like Julia, acting the way she thought she should to please others. Was she programmed this way? “I’ve messed up somewhere and now the neighborhood’s shrinking.”

“What the f—what does that mean?” Kady asks.

“There’s something that doesn’t fit. A cog in this perfect machine that shouldn’t be there. A blade of grass, a rock, something, and this ecosystem is delicate, it won’t take much to bring it out of sync.”

“And what will happen if it keeps shrinking?” Quentin asks, speaking for the first time.

“I don’t know,” Alice wails. “It’s never happened before. Our only hope is that I can figure out what doesn’t fit before it’s too late.” She stands, still patting at her dry face as she walks back to the front door. “I’m sorry to have burdened you with the news, but it’s my obligation to inform the residents. I hope you enjoy the rest of your gathering.” The door clicking shut sounds loud in the silence left in her wake.

***

Quentin is pacing. He seems to do this a lot now, the stress of the good place outdoing the daily rigors of being alive by a long shot. He loves having Eliot around, likes Kady too in all her quiet badassery, but his insides feel like they’re pickling within him, and he once again doesn’t know what to do.

He glances at the couch. Eliot’s looking up at him with wide, trusting eyes. Kady’s leaning back in her seat, looking for all the world like she couldn’t care less, but the stiffness in her shoulders is giving her away. Quentin runs a shaky hand and continues to pace. “Kant didn’t prepare me for this!”

Eliot smiles up at him. Even Kady cracks a grin. “Well, did any other old dead white dudes impart their precious wisdom on this situation?” She says it sarcastically, but her fists are clenching.

Quentin stops, staring into the empty kitchen and tries to think past the curdling of his stomach. “Well, Thomas Aquinas had a theory called the doctrine of double effect. According to him, you can act in a way that causes an immoral side effect, as long as your primary intention is morally sound.”

And that means?” Eliot asks.

“Well, in this situation, it would mean that since my primary intention is to help two people in need,” he gestures at the pair on the couch, ignoring the way Kady rolls her eyes, before continuing to pace, “and the repercussions of the neighborhood shrinking are an immoral side effect I didn’t predict. So, that would mean I’m not morally bankrupt.” When no one says anything, he stops pacing to turn back to them and asks, “right?”

“Sounds like a bullshit excuse to me,” Kady says.

Eliot elbows her in the side, glaring, he stage whispers, “are you trying to get him not to help us?”

“I don’t need his help!” she says, standing up and storming toward the door, bulky boots stomping loudly with each heavy step. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

Eliot turns back to Quentin, eyes wide as the door slams behind Kady. Quentin walks over to the couch and slumps down next to him like a puppet with its strings cut. Eliot immediately leans against his side, arm sliding around his shoulders and pulling him in. “She’ll be back. And then we’ll figure it out. Won’t we, Q?”

“Yeah,” Quentin replies, melting into his touch even as his brain starts ticking away. “Yeah, we will.”

***

Kady’s back by the next lesson, as if nothing had happened. And the one after that, and the one after that. She doesn’t apologize, and they don’t mention her little outburst, and when Eliot looks like he wants to tease her, Quentin slaps a hand over his mouth, and he subsides. It’s for the best, really. She’s not above punching him in the face to get her point across. Besides, this is the good place. Would they really let any pain linger for long anyway?

So, they’re lulled into a false sense of security; no more visits from Alice as they continue each droning lesson as if nothing had happened, as if the neighborhood isn’t shrinking around them. But then there’s a knock on the door. It’s Eliot who calls for Julia and hides the evidence this time, eyes panicky and wide as Quentin walks to the door, each step measured to give Eliot just enough time to send Julia away before he opens it.

It’s not Alice on the other side of the door, though; it’s Margo.

“Quentin,” she says, smiling softly up at him as she pushes into the house. “I was just wondering what you and Eliot were—”

She stops in her tracks when she catches sight of Kady sitting comfortably on the couch next to Eliot. Kady meets her eyes, then glances over at Quentin whose staring between the pair of them, looking overwrought and confused by the sudden tension he doesn’t understand—couldn’t because Kady had never told him.

“Oh, Kady,” Margo continues, before the silence can drag on too long. “I hadn’t realized—well regardless, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not!” Eliot says, jumping up to lead the girl over to the couch, pushing her down on one side and sitting between the two of them, smile straining as no one says anything. Kady can’t meet his eyes. She watches Margo out of the corner of her eye. Her shoulders are ramrod straight. The silence is suffocating, prolonged and loud in the absence of familiarity.

“Right!” Quentin says, clapping his hands with forced brightness from where he was still loitering by the front door. “Who wants drinks?” Everyone immediately choruses their agreements.

Julia is called back, drinks are poured. Quentin comes and sits on the coffee table in front of Kady, showing her more ridiculous magic tricks that get progressively stupider the more he drinks. “Is this your card?” he asks, looking so hopeful. Like a puppy she can’t kick because he’s so goddamn happy to see her.

“It is.” It’s not.

He smiles brightly and pulls her into a hug. She shoves him away, but the damning quirk of her lips is a tell she can’t seem to hide. But then she catches sight of Margo and Eliot, now settled onto barstools chatting amicably, Margo’s shoulders finally loosened. She looks more comfortable in the hard, backless stool than she had on the perfectly plush couch, even with an entire person separating her from Kady.

Kady pours her and Quentin another drink. Then another. And another. She doesn’t remember anything else that night.

***

Margo’s almost forgotten that Kady and Quentin are over on the couch, she’s having so much fun with Eliot, or at least she tries to. It mostly works. Kady’s presence is a small, nagging fly in the back of her head, buzzing sharply every time she hears Kady laugh at something Quentin says. She pushes it away with the warmth that Eliot’s presence brings, that the presence of anyone who will give her the time of day.

“—and then we called an Uber and the cops never caught us!” he’s saying when she tunes back into the conversation. She doesn’t know what he’s been saying, but she laughs brightly anyway, charmed by the way his eyes shine mischievously.

“Ah, a misbegotten youth—”

“I was twenty-seven!”

“Too bad we were from opposite sides of the country. Can you imagine if we’d met as teenagers? We’d have gotten on like a kerosine fire.”

Eliot goes quiet, eyes flitting over to the couch, and it’s only then that Margo notices how quiet it’s gotten. She turns and sees Quentin and Kady asleep, his head slumped awkwardly on her hip, neck at an uncomfortable angle, Kady’s feet propped up on the coffee table, still sitting up despite her head lolling onto the back of the couch. She feels that same jealous twinge. Margo’s relieved to turn her eyes back toward him when Eliot starts talking. 

“I was actually in the Midwest as a teenager, not Los Angeles.” He’s looking down at his hands. She takes a sip of her drink as he clears his throat uncomfortably and continues in a voice falsely bright. “Besides, I was a farm boy, I don’t think rich bitch latchkey baby Margo would have given me the time of day.” He gestures down to his immaculate outfit, suit pants tantalizingly pressed and tight, vest fitting just so, the exact right shade of artful dishevelment to not appear stiff. “Not before my little metamorphosis, at the very least.”

It’s Margo’s turn to clear her throat. His words on her character hit a little too close to home, back then and now. She resists the urge to look over at Kady and Quentin once more. “I don’t know. With all of this waiting to blossom?” She gestures toward him, voice too quiet for the cheer she’s trying to force into it. Instead, it comes out uncomfortably honest. Sincere. “I think you could have won me over.”

Eliot smiles at her from beneath his lashes, something shy and coy that she hasn’t seen on him so far. She smiles back.

They settle after that—clicking and meshing just like they had at the party. It’s effortless. Margo tries not to wish that Eliot had been made her soulmate. It would’ve been so much easier, their almost cosmic understanding of one another despite their different lived experiences. But then she catches the way he checks on Quentin every so often, as if to make sure he’s still sleeping, still happy and comfortable, before rejoining their conversation, and she can’t wish it at all. They seem happy. Eliot deserves that. Probably, so does Quentin.

As if sensing her tumultuous thoughts, the conversation wanders from the old days of partying into much more uncomfortable territory. “Feel free to tell me to fuck off but—”

“Eliot Waugh, as if I would ever.”

“But you and Kady don’t exactly seem to be—”

His face contorts in thought, nose scrunching up, eyes squinting, mouth pursing, but doesn’t speak. He’s looking between the couch and Margo as if one of them will finish his sentence for him. Finally, he says, “jelling?” face still scrunched and confused, clearly unhappy with the word choice.

Margo slumps on her stool, back bowing forward so she can put her elbows on the counter and her face into her hands. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well, to us, yeah,” and god, he and Quentin are already talking in the plural. “Kady comes by sometime, and I’ve seen you two interacting a few times now. And warm and fuzzy love it is not.”

Margo sighs, glancing over to make sure Kady really is asleep. She is.

“I don’t do that,” she says quietly. “The whole romance and love thing? It’s just not for me. Never has been.”

Eliot’s quiet for a minute. When he looks up at him, his eyebrows are scrunched in thought. “So, you’re aromantic?”

A fission of warmth furls in her chest. “Yes.” She glances over to Kady again and the warmth curdles. She doesn’t say anything else.

“Must be shit getting saddled with a soulmate then, huh?”

Margo barks out a laugh, harsh and unladylike. Quentin mutters in his sleep, turning his face more fully into Kady’s hip, but doesn’t wake. “Yes. Yes, it has been.”

Eliot pats her knee consolingly and hands her a shot of vodka, clinking his glass with hers, they both down them in a few, solid gulps. The night is much more enjoyable after that.

***

Kady startles awake to a hand shaking her shoulder, sending Quentin sprawling off her and onto the floor. She can hear Eliot laughing, but when she focuses her eyes, it’s Margo bending over her. “Time to go home,” she says.

She grunts in answer, takes a moment to find her equilibrium and stands, pleased to find herself not as drunk as she could have been. Margo, on the other hand, is swaying back and forth, face both pale and flushed. She wraps her arm around Margo’s waist with a sigh and leads her toward the door. Margo leans into her side, boneless in her intoxication.

Kady calls her goodbyes to the boys, glimpses Eliot pulling Quentin up off the floor, still laughing despite Quentin’s pout just before the door closes behind them. 

The air is crisp, almost frigid—the perfect autumn night to spend with someone important. Kady glances at Margo and feels herself turn bitter. Regardless, she takes a deep breath and bites the bullet. “I know we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, but—” She stalls out, not sure what to say. For all that they have become wrong-footed, she still doesn’t know why. “—but I think we could at least be better than this.”

Margo’s lower lip his fucking wobbling, eyes shining. Kady averts her eyes, terrified suddenly that she’s made her soulmate cry. “I’m sorry,” Margo says, voice unsteady. “It’s not my fault, but I’m sorry anyway.”

Kady sighs. “Me too, Princess.” She squeezes Margo’s waist and wonders if she’ll even remember this conversation in the morning. “Me too.” 

***

They’re both drunk this time, curled toward each other in a pose reminiscent of that very first night, when Eliot had spilled things he’d meant to keep quiet and turned their afterlives all upside down and topsy turvy. The room still feels like it’s spinning, but this time Quentin’s arm’s a solid brand across his ribs, pushing him into the mattress. Even when the world is shaking apart, Quentin’s always felt solid—whole. Maybe that’s why he unsticks his tongue and whispers more secrets into the dark. It’s what Quentin does to him.

“My life’s never worked,” he whispers into the dark. “Not when I was alive, and not now.”

“How come?” Quentin asks, just as quiet.

And here’s the problem: Eliot doesn’t know. There’s been something twisting inside of him since he moved to L.A. at sixteen, or maybe the year before when his Dad caught him kissing his best friend and called him an abomination, or maybe since birth. He’s been twisting himself in knots for longer than he can remember, and now he’s a twisted mess and he doesn’t know how to untangle it all.

“I don’t know,” he says, ignoring the way his voice cracks around the last word. “I’ve been hopping from bed to bed, drug to drug since I was sixteen.” Quentin’s quiet, but his arm tightens a little over his ribs. “I don’t think I know how to do anything else.”

The air feels charged. Eliot feels closer to crying than he has since childhood. There’s something shaking apart in him the longer this silence goes on. Eliot feels a tear slip free, gathering in his hairline. He reaches a hand up, wiping it free, as if that’ll be enough to have unmade the tear. Another drips down. He lets it.

“I break things,” Quentin says, voice warbling. “Did you know?” At Eliot’s enquiring noise, he continues. “My Mom always said—I’ve always broken things. Glasses, plans, relationships, myself.”

Eliot turns in their bed and slings his arm around Quentin, pulling him into his chest at the sound of his wet breathing. He pets his hair with clumsy hands, kisses his forehead, and can’t think of a thing to say.

“I don’t feel like I should be here,” Quentin says, quiet and wet. “What have I done? I’m a philosophy professor with a broken brain.”

“You’re amazing.” Eliot says it because he can’t not. It burst free, truthful and pure.

“What if neither of us are supposed to be here?”

“Then we’ll be in the wrong place together, won’t we?”

Eliot continues to pet his hair, listening to his shaky breathing steady and deepen in sleep. It takes him a long time to find his own rest. His mind won’t stop clicking away repeating Quentin’s words—I break things.

***

They’re sitting across from each other eating frozen yogurt—Quentin’s a swirl of chocolate and vanilla, Eliot’s lavender basil—when Alice sits daintily in the open seat, shoulders slumped and brow creased. Quentin feels himself tense, sees Eliot freeze with his spoon halfway to his mouth from the corner of his eye.

“Are you okay?” he asks before she can notice Eliot’s deer-in-headlights impersonation.

She meets his eyes, pupils blown wide, fingers tapping frenetically against the concrete tabletop. “Oh, Quentin. I didn’t see you there.” She looks back down at the table.

Quentin glances at Eliot to see him looking back, now licking his spoon clean. “What’s wrong, cupcake?” Eliot asks.

If anything, Alice’s head slumps further, neck bowing as if the weight of it can bring her forehead down to the cool surface in front of her. Quentin kind of wants to give her a hug, clasp her shoulder, something. It’s an uncomfortably pitiful display for a supposed immortal being.

“If I can’t figure out what went wrong, Julia will have to fetch a train.” Her voice is quiet, barely carrying over the general hubbub of the crowded street.

“And that’s…bad?” Quentin asks.

She looks up, meeting his eyes, pupils still wide and wet and so terribly sad. “It means I’ll be retired, punished for failing you all. I’ll be unmade. Nothing.”

Quentin’s heart stops. “You mean you’ll—die?”

“I’ll have never been anything at all.” And as if the words have sapped all of her strength, she pillows her head atop her arms, face pressed into the crook of her elbow. “The creators of the neighborhoods don’t usually stick around, you know? I thought it would be nice to be able to keep an eye on all of you. Instead, I’ve doomed us all.”

He and Eliot stare at each other above her head. Eliot’s raising and scrunching his eyebrows, as if to communicate something to Quentin that he can’t quiet grasp. He raises one of his own. Eliot smiles. Quentin’s lost. This is a worthless form of communication.

“Alice?” Eliot asks. “Can anyone besides Julia call the train to send you away?”

“No, why?”

His smile grows. “Just wondering.”

That clarifies nothing. With every second that passes, Quentin’s frown deepens. Eliot’s smile only widens. Quentin goes back to eating his ice cream.

***

Eliot doesn’t say anything all the way home, despite the obviously curious looks that Quentin sends him, and the much more vocal demands Kady makes of him when he stops by her house to drag her away. As soon as he slams the front door closed behind them, he whirls around, a manic grin on his face and says, “we have to kill Julia!”

Julia pops into the room behind Kady and Quentin who are still gaping at him. “What can I do for you?”

“Julia, can you be killed?” Eliot asks.

“Yes!” she says, eyes still vacant, smile fixed on her face. “There’s a button. All you have to do is push it, and I will be deactivated. Do you need anything else?”

“No. Thank you, Julia.”

She blips away. “What the fuck?” Kady demands. Quentin tells her about Alice’s revelation about the train, and her own inevitable destruction. “And your idea for stopping that from happening is to kill someone else?”

“You heard her,” he replies, voice raised in aggravation. How can they not see how beautiful a solution this is? It’s a perfect out! “She’s not human. It’ll just be deactivating her!”

“That’s just a fancy way to say murder,” Quentin says, arms crossed as he glares at Eliot.

“Q, please.” Eliot says, walking up to him and taking both of Quentin’s hands in his own. “Don’t you want us to be safe?”

Quentin bites his lip, looking torn. Kady huffs about being snubbed behind them, but Eliot ignores her, eyes still locked on Quentin’s own. “This is bad. This is so bad.”

But Eliot sees the way his shoulders slump in resignation and smiles. “So, you’ll help?”

Quentin just nods.

***

In the end, it’s as easy as asking Julia where the button is. They stand in front of it on the banks of the neighborhood, arguing about ethics and who should do it, whether they should do it at all. Kady can’t stand the indecisiveness. They’ve already made the decision, what’s the point in going all wishy washy when finally faced with their choice?

With a disgruntled sigh that draws only Julia’s eyes—the boys too caught up in their bickering to notice anyone else—she stomps over the button and slams her hand down on it. Hard. The bickering stops. They both stare at her first, then turn as one to look at Julia just in time to see her fall forward, lifeless.

For one, infinite moment, no one does anything. Then, Kady runs, Eliot hot on her heels, Quentin just behind that. It’s all just so easy. It makes her giddy, almost. But then Alice calls a meeting for the entire neighborhood within hours, and the bottom drops out for her, for all of them.

Alice stands on a little wooden stage, directing the residents to sit on the rickety metal chairs lined up uniformly on the grass facing her. They all take a seat near the middle, the spot to Eliot’s right saved for Margo when she shows up, shooting a suspicious glance at all three of them. Kady can’t look away from the stage where Julia stands, dazed next to Alice. They’re all so royally fucked. She clutches Quentin’s hand in hers, grip tight enough to bruise, and can’t find it in her to be embarrassed about it, especially with the tremoring of Quentin’s fingers where they’re linked with hers.

Once the chairs are filled, Alice clears her throat stiffly. Chatter stops. Quentin’s nails dig into her palm. She squeezes his even harder as Alice begins to speak, “Julia has been murdered.” She waits out the quiet murmurs that erupt at her words, then continues, “Clearly, there is more wrong with this neighborhood than just my presence. I will be opening an investigation to figure out who killed Julia and what they might know about the neighborhood shrinking.”

Questions are asked and answered. Kady hears none of it above the ringing of her ears. She’s still staring at Julia’s wide, confused eyes.

***

Julia wakes up in the sand. Everything’s blank, vacant and strange. She doesn’t remember anything, not years previous, not yesterday, nothing. But she knows she’s Julia, and there’s a sucking pit within her where she knows all the knowledge of the universe used to be. Now, it’s a flimsy personal library, a few factoids decorating the shelves.

She knows what cacti are, knows the feeling Spanish leaves on her tongue, knows how to make a shrimp taco, knows it’s her job to help humans in the good place. Everything else is blank, dim, gone. Something flashes in, and suddenly she knows how to waltz. A minute later, the circumference of the earth comes to her. It all trickles in.

She gets up from the sand, dusts it off her skirt, ignores the niggling feeling that she should be able to just blink and be there, and starts walking. Alice finds her first, voice acerbic as she reprimands Julia for not coming, demands answers, doesn’t like the nothing she gets in return. She knows this is Alice, but that’s all there is.

Julia feels tears prickling at her eyes, and suddenly she knows what crying is because Alice asks, “are you crying?” in the most incredulous, horrified voice Julia can remember hearing, which doesn’t actually tell her much. Alice encroaches on her space, hands on her shoulders, pushing her into the ground and clutching her with talon-like nails, eyes hard and demanding. Julia squeezes her hands into small fists and tries to find something, anything clear and grounding. There’s nothing. She keeps crying.

“Tell me what’s happening,” Alice demands.

Julia tells her about the shrimp tacos, and the waltzing, and Spanish, words spiraling over each other as she gets out everything she’s learned since all she knew was sand, until Alice demands “shut up!” She does, voice hiccupping and raw, scratchy.

“Shit,” Alice says, dropping her shoulders and pinching the bridge between her nose. Then she grabs Julia’s wrist, tight enough that it would hurt if she were human, and drags her away, not telling her anything.

The day continues, and all she learns is that she was murdered, Alice’s word for her state. The knowledge of what that means trickles in slowly, a gradual cascading of concepts, starting with assault and ending with death, but that’s not right either. She’s not human. She can’t die. Can she?

Alice tells her nothing. She makes demands, asks for things Julia doesn’t know and can’t find, voice raising to tones that make her cringe back, a sinking feeling that almost feels like fear. She tells Alice, “I think I’m afraid of you.”

Alice scoffs, derisive in the privacy of her office with the door shut tight, “You don’t have feelings, Julia.” Her name comes out syrupy and droning on her tongue. Julia’s pretty sure what she’s feeling now is ill. She doesn’t tell Alice, the lesson of omission and self-preservation already curling tightly within her.

Within her mind, she hears someone call her name, anxious and tight—not like Alice—and suddenly she’s somewhere else, in a small little cottage, staring at two men. “What do you remember?” the taller of the two demands. Julia starts her list again, shoulders slumping by the time she gets to the shrimp tacos again, but he interrupts her. “No, what do you remember about yourself? Before you got, er, shut off?”

She’s quiet for a moment, thinking as she looks between the two men with anxious eyes. “I don’t think that was me,” she says, finally settling on an explanation. “That Julia was her, and now I’m me.”

“So, you don’t remember?” the other man asks.

“Remember what?”

***

Margo’s fucked off again. Eliot and Quentin are too wrapped up in each other to notice her, even if she stood between them screaming and clapping her hands. Or, maybe not, but she can tell when she’s third wheeling. So, now here Kady is, flopped onto her own couch for once, bored (lonely) as hell. Maybe that’s why she does it.

“Julia?” she asks quietly.

Julia pops into existence in front of her, hands wringing in front of her with something that almost looks like anxiety. “What can I do for you?” she asks, not meeting Kady’s eyes. “I’m still not quite up to my usual standards—or so I’ve been told—but I’ll do my best to supply you with whatever you need.”

Kady’s staring, can’t even help it really. She’s never seen Julia like this. Before they’d (she’d) shut her down, Julia had been placid, smiling vacantly and composed, always. Now, Julia looks like she’s on the verge of tears, as impossible as it seems.

Kady sits up from where she’s sprawled over the majority of the couch, planting her feet on the ground, and patting the seat next to her. “Why don’t you sit down, buttercup?”

Julia looks at the cushion Kady had patted, looks back at her, back at the cushion, before hesitantly sitting down next to her, hands now clasped tightly in front of her, back ramrod straight. “What can I do for you?” she asks again.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Kady says, waving her hand. “How are you doing?”

Julia’s looking down at her hands. Brow furrowed, looking sad. “I don’t think anyone’s asked me that before. Everyone’s always asking things of me. Sometimes I don’t even know what they are, and then they get mad.” Julia stands from her perch on the couch, pacing around the coffee table, hands waving in clear aggravation, words pouring out of her faster and faster. “Alice yelled at me for an hour about productivity, and I still don’t know what she wanted from me. I cried three times today, and Alice told me that’s not supposed to happen. She said maybe I should be shut down, but I don’t want to—”

Julia cuts off mid-word, eyes wide and panicked as she abruptly stops pacing and faces Kady like she’s the leader of a firing squad. “So, not great, I take it?” Kady asks, pushing down the curdling guilt in her stomach. She pats that spot next to her again, and Julia slumps down once more, all grace removed from her movements.

“I’m sorry,” she sighs. “I didn’t mean to say all that.”

Kady pats her arm. Julia leans into the touch. They don’t say anything for long minutes. Finally, Kady asks, “So, you have feelings now? What’s that like?”

Julia bites her lip, eyebrows furrowing charmingly. “I don’t know,” she says. “You’re the first person that’s been nice to me, you know.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“It’s—nice. Feels warm.” She’s smiling now, brow smoothed out. “I like it.”

Kady smiles back and lets her arm settle over Julia’s shoulders. “I’m glad, cupcake.” Feeling emboldened, she kisses the top of Julia’s head, before settling her arm more firmly around the other girl’s shoulders. Julia hums contentedly and settles into her embrace. “I’m real glad.”

***

Eliot and Kady are in class listening to Quentin drone on about Aristotle when it happens: their cottage shakes like it’s trying to break apart around them. Books fly off the shelves, glass shatters to the ground as a picture frame hits it. Quentin lunges away from the chalkboard to the couch, leaping onto it half on top of him and Kady, and half squished between them. Kady hooks her arm around his waist and Eliot pats his head, staring at the ceiling, praying to a god he still doesn’t believe in that the whole thing doesn’t crumble down on top of them.

Just as quick as it started, it all just…stops. Everything’s quiet. Eliot looks over to where Quentin is still sitting on Kady’s lap, eyes wide and frightened. Kady’s just looking around the room, eyebrows raised as if this is the most exciting thing to happen to her in weeks and not at all concerning.

“Julia?” Eliot finally says, when neither of his companions make a move to. When she appears in front of him with a quiet blip, he asks, “What the hell was that?”

“It’s because of the neighborhood shrinking,” Julia replies, almost looking worried in a way she definitely hadn’t been able to before she’d died—before they’d shut her off.

“…what do we do?” Quentin asks when she doesn’t elaborate.

“The only thing we can do is remove whatever isn’t supposed to be here.”

Eliot knows Quentin is looking at him but can’t bear to meet his eyes, see the accusation there. He bites his lip and looks over to Kady instead. She’s looking down at her feet, eyebrows furrowed in thought. No one knows what to do, it seems.

“What will happen if it shrinks to the point that there’s not enough room for us?” Eliot asks.

“Unclear,” Julia says, and she looks sympathetic, like maybe she knows why he’s asking, what he’s been hiding. “Maybe your souls will appear in a different good place, maybe they’ll disappear along with the neighborhood. We don’t know. This has never happened before.”

Kady finally meets his eyes. She looks grim, more serious than he’s ever seen her, and it hits him finally—this is on them. She nods. He finally looks at Quentin—his eyes are wide and watery, almost afraid. Is he scared for himself, or them? Eliot’s pretty sure he knows. He looks back at Kady, and nods back.

“Julia?” Kady says, “will you call Alice?”

“Of course!” Julia says, still sympathetic, then disappears.

“What are you doing?” Quentin demands. Neither Eliot nor Kady say anything. What’s there to say? It’s been a good run, but this is the end of the line, isn’t it? There’s nowhere else to go, nowhere left to hide. Their neighborhood is shaking and taking them all with it. “What are you doing?!”

Eliot holds out his hands and waits until Quentin puts his own into them with a sigh, palms to palms and fingers interlocking. Eliot squeezes tightly and looks deeply into his eyes, willing him to listen, to understand. “It’s time, Q.”

Quentin tries to wrench his hands free, but Eliot doesn’t let him. “No.” he says, desperate. “No, it’s—”

“I don’t know if we’re really soulmates,” Eliot interrupts him. He has to. They’re running out of time, and he’s running out of gumption. “But I don’t care, okay? I don’t.”

“Eliot, don’t—”

“I wouldn’t leave you if I had a choice, Q.” Eliot cups one of Quentin’s cheeks, strokes it like he’s always wanted to. “I know we’re not there yet, and now we won’t get to, but you’re important, okay?”

“Eliot, I’m sorry.”

“No,” he says, thinks I break things. “You didn’t break us, okay?” Quentin looks down, a sob wrenching free from his throat, and Eliot regrets having broken them even before they’d met, all the way back on Earth when he’d wasted his life and stupid bullshit that never mattered, will never matter. He caresses Quentin’s face again, and asks, “Okay?”

“Okay,” and he’s finally wriggling out of Kady’s lap and into Eliot’s. He meets Kady’s eyes over his head and there’s an understanding there he doesn’t expect. She smiles at him. He smiles back. Then the door opens, and there’s Alice.

“What is it?” she asks. “There’s still investigating to do, so I can’t dawdle.”

Eliot pushes Quentin off his lap and onto the couch, pries Quentin’s fingers from his hand and stands tall, jaw firm, shoulders squared as he faces his doom. This is the bravest he’s been in his entire life, and it’s all because of him—because of Quentin Coldwater who’s too good for him, whose soul is worth more than being swallowed up by the shrinking neighborhood that Eliot’s responsible for. He wonders if this is what love feels like—he’s not sure he’s ever felt it before.

He takes a deep breath, and speaks, “it’s me. The thing that’s wrong with the neighborhood? It’s me.”

“And me.” Kady stands beside him, shoulders brushing as they face their doom side by side.

Alice is looking between them, eyes wide with shock. “It’s…you?” she asks.

“We’re not supposed to be here.,” Kady says. Eliot reaches down and snags her hand in his, squeezing it tight.

Suddenly, Alice looks furious, betrayed. Eliot feels another piece of his heart twinge, the last bit that hasn’t been taken over by Quentin’s quiet crying behind them. She takes a step toward them, and Eliot takes one back, running into the couch, Quentin’s knees hitting the back of Eliot’s calves and almost sending him sprawling. In this instant, Alice is terrifying, brutal in her rage.

“I’m sorry,” Eliot blurts.

“You’re sorry?” she demands. “You’re sorry?” She’s so small, but it doesn’t feel like it, in this moment. She feels tall and looming. But then she takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and the Alice he’s used to is back, a little awkward and bumbling, sure, but harmless. “I’ll have to call the bad place. It’ll take days for the train to get here. I suggest you say your goodbyes.” Then she storms away.

They stand in silence for a long time, Quentin still crying, Kady’s hand is in his. And when Quentin finally says, “what do we do now?” Eliot doesn’t know what to say.

***

Kady clears her throat, watching Margo flit around their too-big house. Sure, they’ve never really bonded, but she’s still worried about how Margo will react. Margo continues wandering around the living room, looking around, as if she’s trying to find something she lost. Kady wonders if she even knows she’s here.

“Margo?” she says.

Margo whirls around, hand to her heart in a surprise too genuine to be real. “Oh, are you here?” she asks. “I thought we’d decided to avoid each other.”

Kady winces. She has been largely absent from the house, but Margo didn’t seem to have minded. Maybe she should have asked, talked it out like the adults they’re both clearly not. Margo’s gone back to searching the living room. Kady rolls her eyes.

“Margo, this is serious.” But Margo doesn’t turn around, doesn’t even pause her movements or glance Kady’s ways, so she continues, biting the bullet before the hesitation gets to her. “Eliot and I are being sent to the bad place.”

That gets her attention, she turns, hand on her hip, eyebrows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

Kady clears her throat and flits her eyes away. “We’re not supposed to be here, either of us.”

“And you’re supposed to be—there?”

Kady shrugs, unwilling to admit to it, that Margo is better than her in every conceivable way, when Margo’s mere presence has always rankled, made her feel undesirable and poor and less than.

“Are you even my soulmate?” Margo asks.

Kady stands tall, plants her feet and refuses to cower in the face of this immaculate woman. “I don’t know.” Margo’s staring at her, looking her directly in the eyes the way she never does. “It doesn’t feel like it, does it?”

“God, no.” She sounds relieved, like the world has been lifted off her shoulders. Kady doesn’t know what her face looks like, but Margo takes an aborted step forward, eyes wide, hands raised like she’s trying to soothe a wild animal. Kady wants to snarl. “Wait, no. It’s not you.”

“Whatever.”

“Seriously!” Margo finally looks away, shuffling her feet as if she’s the one being disparaged. “I just—the thought of having a soulmate is nauseating, you know?” Kady nods even though she really doesn’t. “I’ve never even wanted to date anyone, and I got here, and I’m almost immediately saddled with a soulmate? That’s worse than waking up married!”

Kady feels herself settle. It’s not her, it’s the whole thing, the concept of soulmates themselves. “Too bad we didn’t talk about this sooner, huh?” Kady asks. “Would’ve saved us a lot of anxiety.”

Margo laughs, smile brighter than Kady’s ever seen it, before it drops off entirely as if it’d never been there. “You’re both really going to the bad place?”

Kady nods. This has all been for nothing. All the anxiety of being found out, her time with Quentin and Eliot, learning in a way she never had before, and for what? To be sent to the bad place? It isn’t fair.

“Are you okay?” Margo asks. Kady nods. There’s nothing else to do. They’re not soulmates, not friends, barely acquaintances. “I’m going to find Eliot.”

Kady stands still, staring into the distance as Margo walks out of the house, the door shutting behind her with a quiet click. Kady takes a deep breath and says, “Julia?”

Julia pops in front of her, a smile already forming on her face. “Kady!” She sounds excited to see her, happy. She didn’t used to be able to feel this way. It’s new, and it makes her glow.

“Do you want to get married?” Kady asks because they might as well. Margo doesn’t want her, and Julia’s been nice, been different since she came back. Julia’s grin widens.

“No one’s ever told me I couldn’t.”

Kady throws her arms around Julia. She’ll take the little bit of joy she can before it’s all snatched from her again. Julia’s arms encircle her waist in a hesitant embrace. This is the stupidest thing she’s ever done. There will be absolutely no consequences. Kady smiles.

***

Margo storms into Eliot and Quentin’s cottage, slams the door hard enough to make both of them jump, and immediately starts shouting. “You’re not even supposed to be here? What the fuck, Eliot!” When Eliot cringes back from her, shoving himself as far into the corner of the couch as he can go, she turns her glare to Quentin. “And you! You didn’t tell me? How could you?”

Quentin leans further back, eyes wide and afraid. Good. He should be afraid. She was going to kill them both, already dead or not. “Sorry,” Quentin says, voice barely audible.

Margo looks back and forth between Eliot on one side of the couch and Quentin on the other. Neither will meet her eyes. Quentin’s watching Eliot with sad, wounded eyes. Eliot’s looking down at his feet, and suddenly all the fight leaves her. Eliot’s her best friend, her first real friend. And he’s leaving. Her eyes well with tears. Her breath hitches in a sob, and when they both look up at her with wide eyes, it’s the most embarrassed she’s ever been.

She storms up to the couch, puts her head on Eliot’s shoulder and her feet in Quentin’s lap. Quentin dutifully rubs her ankles. Eliot bends down and kisses her forehead. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me.”

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re my favorite, you know?”

Eliot smiles down at her, eyes soft. “I know. You’re mine, too.” They both ignore Quentin’s quiet grumbling, just gazing into each other’s eyes. Margo blinks hers rapidly, trying to clear the tears from her lashes. It doesn’t work.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me with Quentin.” She playfully kicks him in the ribs. He wraps his hands tighter around the offending foot, tugging it back down into his lap.

Eliot opens his mouth, a conniving twinkle in his eyes, but before he can say anything, Julia appears in the living room with a quiet blip. “Attention,” she says, smiling brightly. Margo didn’t even realize she could feel happy, but this looks real, genuine. “Kady and I are getting married, and we’d like all of you there.” 

Quiet descends. Margo and Eliot share bewildered looks, but it’s Quentin who asks “why?” in a quiet, contemplative voice.

“Why not?” Julia asks. “It’s in an hour at Kady and Margo’s house. Will you come?” She looks eager, almost childlike. Margo supposes she was reborn just a few days ago, so it makes sense.

“Sure,” Eliot says. “Sounds like a good way to while away the rest of my days, don’t you think, my dears?” He looks to Margo, then to Quentin. They both nod. It’s settled then.

***

Julia swirls her skirts around her ankles—she’s never worn such a long dress before, and she finds she likes it. It’s the amalgamation of what human’s from western society deem the “perfect wedding dress,” with a long white train, lace covered arms, and a lattice neckline that plunges far enough that Kady’s eyes had widened when she first caught sight of her.

Now she’s standing, hands in Kady’s as she gazes into her eyes. Kady’s wearing a tuxedo, black tie and all, wild hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Julia’s never felt love before but in this moment she’s…fond, excited, warm on the inside and bubbling over.

“You ready?” Kady asks.

Julia nods, smiling brightly. She looks over at the human’s gathered on the couch and feels that warmth grow. Margo looks like she’s seconds away from laughing, Eliot’s legs are strewn across Quentin’s lap, eyes wide as he looks back and forth between the pair, Quentin’s grinning like it’s his wedding. Julia’s never had a friend before. She wonders if this is what it feels like, if maybe these three can be her first ones.

“Will you, Kady Orloff-Diaz, be my lawfully wedded wife?”

Kady laughs, bright and happy. “Getting right to it, huh?” She squeezes Julia’s hands. “Yes.” Quentin cheers, the other two following suit a few seconds later. Kady whips around, glaring. “Don’t ruin my wedding, or so help me god, I’ll kill you all.” By the time she turns back, she’s smiling again. Julia lets herself be charmed.

“Will you, Julia Wicker, be my lawfully wedded—wife? Husband? Partner?”

“Wife is fine,” Julia says, leaning in to brush her lips against Kady’s for the very first time. It’s small, innocent. Sweet. When she pulls away, Kady’s still looking at her expectantly. “Oh! And yes.”

Kady pulls her back into a much less innocent kiss. Julia falls into it willingly, feels confetti from their guest’s poppers falling all around them, but can’t seem to pull away long enough to look. If this is what getting turned off can make her feel, she doesn’t think she regrets it.

***

Quentin watches the newlyweds twirl around the floor to ridiculous rock and roll music and feels his smile turn melancholic and small. The hours these two have left can be counted, added up and found wanting. He looks over at Eliot, still laughing and joyous, and well, theirs can be counted too, can’t they? The time he’ll have with Eliot until he’s just gone. He knows it’s worse for Eliot and Kady, knows he and Margo are getting off lightly, but this is torture. He’s never done well with being left behind.

“Are you alright?” Eliot asks, wrapping an arm around Quentin’s waist and squeezing him to his side.

Quentin nods. “Champagne?” he asks. Two flutes of bubbling champagne appear in his hands. Julia hasn’t even looked away from Kady’s eyes. He calls his thanks, hands one to Eliot, and attempts to down the entire drink in one fell swoop. It doesn’t work. The glass just keeps automatically refilling.

Before he knows it, he’s tipsy, thoughts so heavy that he can’t help but sink further into Eliot’s arms. Eliot who’s going to leave him. Eliot who’s going to suffer. His Eliot, the only one he’s ever had.

“Want to go home?” Eliot asks, breath tickling over the shell of Quentin’s ear. Home, their home that they live in, together. Soon, it’ll just be his and his alone. Quentin nods, worried his voice will crack.

Eliot chuckles and they both stumble out of the room, calling out well wishes to the happy couple and ignoring Margo’s complaints about being left alone. They stagger out into the warm night air, arms still wrapped around each other, holding each other up. Eliot giggles when they finally make it into the cottage. He flops down onto the bed without letting Quentin go, forcing him down onto the bed with him.

Quentin’s acutely aware of every place his skin is touching Eliot’s—ankles tangled together, his ribs pressing into Eliot’s chest, cheek against his neck, Eliot’s hair tickling his forehead, arm draped haphazardly across his waist.

Without thinking about what it’ll mean, Quentin bends down and bites Eliot’s shoulder, teeth scraping against the fabric of his shirt. Eliot stops breathing for one, endless second, and then groans. That’s all it takes. Quentin rolls on top of him, lips seeking his in the half-dark room, and they’re kissing. It’s rough, desperate and wanting. Quentin tries to lose himself in it, but even as Eliot’s grinding up against his knee, he can’t stop thinking about the hours they have left, trickling away like sand in a sieve. He counts them as they drop, even as he bites down on Eliot’s bottom lip and tries to forget.

***

Kady drinks her coffee slowly, lounging in ratty sweats and gazing out the large bay windows in her living room. She hasn’t seen Margo since the wedding last night, but Julia hasn’t left her side except for the occasional jaunt into the neighborhood to help out a resident. It’s nice, this quiet companionship.

“I wish we could keep this,” Kady says, not looking away from the rising of the sun. It’s perfect, a beautiful cacophony of pink, just like it is every morning in this place. Everything is perfect—it’s been fabricated that way, and she resents it just as much as she’ll miss it.

“We could,” Julia says, voice a quiet whisper in the silent house.

Kady finally turns to look at her. She’s biting her lip, looking down at her own lap, but every few seconds, her eyes drift up to meet Kady’s before they look back down. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a medium place.” Julia tucks her hair behind her ears, squares her shoulders and meets Kady’s eyes. This time, she doesn’t look away. “We could go there. It’s outside the jurisdiction of the good place and the bad place, so we could just—just be.”

Kady’s heart beats faster with something that feels a little too close to hope. “We could be together?” she asks. It’s important somehow, that they stay together. They’ve known each other for scant months, even fewer weeks since Julia was rebooted and woke up different, but there’s something here in the way they are together that Kady wants to keep. “You’d stay?”

Julia smiles, “I’d stay.”

Hope blooms. Kady leans across the distance separating them and sketches a gentle kiss across Julia’s cheek. “What about Eliot?”

Julia chews on her lip, looking conflicted. “He could come?”

Yeah. Kady takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. Yeah, he can come. They’ll be safe, she’ll have Julia by her side. It’ll all be okay.

***

Eliot pulls smoke into his lungs, lets it burn away within him until his lungs ache with the strain, then lets it curl away into the sky. He lays back on the porch, staring up at the smoke fliting away and wishes he could go back to when the sky was still dark above him, twinkling with fabricated stars. Or even further back, when Quentin had pulled him into that kiss, had laid on top of him like he belonged there.

Now Quentin’s alone in the bed, asleep and peaceful. Eliot envy’s him that rest, that sense of safety the Eliot’s never really had. He’s gotten close here, in this little cottage with Quentin by his side. But it’s all drifting away like the smoke did, and he feels restless, like his skin is caging him in.

“Hey.” He pulls his elbows up beneath him. It’s Kady. He drops back down to look back up at the sky. “Julia and I are leaving.”

“What?” he asks, sitting up fully now, eyes wide. “Where?”

“There’s a medium place.” Kady sits down next to him, cross legged and easy. “She says we’ll be safe there.”

Eliot can’t stop staring at her. Safe. He can’t really imagine that, but he wants it so badly he wants to beg for it. He doesn’t, just stays there, staring at Kady until she turns and meets his eyes with a quiet smile.

“Will you come with us?”

“Yes.” He stands up, doesn’t hesitate, can’t or he’ll lose his momentum, start to doubt.

Kady follows him down the porch steps but hesitates on the dirt path separating their houses. “And Quentin?”

Eliot turns back to the wooden cottage. He’d hated it so much when he’d first seen it. Now it makes him think of all that time with Quentin, when he’d been almost happy, almost safe, almost in love, just. Almost. But Quentin is safe. He’s asleep in his house in the neighborhood he’d earned the right to live in, and Eliot can’t take that from him. “He belongs here.”

“Are you sure?”

Eliot doesn’t respond, just leads her away from their little cottage. Kady doesn’t say anything else. And when they’re on the train, Julia urging it on, Eliot lets out a shuddering breath, stomach full of regret. He tries to tell himself it’s relief. It doesn’t work. He just breathes. And breathes. And breathes.

***

Eliot’s gone. It’s come to him and a quiet dawning as the hours wear on. He woke alone in his bed, unbothered, made breakfast for them both, sat at the table and waited. And waited. And waited. But it’s been hours now, the eggs have turned rubbery, bacon sogging in its own grease, the toast long cold, and he’s not here.

Quentin can’t get up. What if the bad place came early, what if he’s just gone? So, he sits and waits, staring down at the table, eyes tracing the grain of its wood in endless lines. What if he gives up and that’s why Eliot’s gone? He can’t, he can’t, he—

The house has grown dark around him once more when there’s a sharp knock at the front door. He jumps up, rushing to answer it, hope bubbling fresh in his belly, but it’s Margo. Of course, it’s Margo; Eliot wouldn’t knock on his own front door.

“Is Eliot here?” she demands.

Quentin eyes her. She looks more harried than he’s ever seen her, hair frazzled, sweater frumpy, face free of its usual make-up. “I haven’t seen him since last night,” he says, voice cracking on the last word.

Margo’s breath shudders around a sob. “Kady’s gone, too.”

Oh. Oh, no. They’re gone. But, what about— “Julia?” he calls. No one comes. He calls her again, over and over, until Margo pulls him into a shaking hug. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know.” Margo’s voice sounds rough. Quentin wonders detachedly if she’s crying. “I think she left.”

If Julia’s gone, does that mean they got away somehow, and just decided to leave Margo and Quentin behind? Or did they go to the bad place and Julia being gone is a coincidence? He doesn’t know and it’s that not knowing that makes him start shaking. Margo curls her arms tighter around him. He puts his around her, just as tightly. “Should we ask Alice?” he asks.

Margo doesn’t answer, not right away. “But what if they got away, and we help her catch them?”

Quentin doesn’t know. Neither of them does. They stand there for a long time.

***

The medium place isn’t what Eliot expected. It’s very medium, with average décor, average food, very little in the way of entertainment. What he doesn’t expect is the man who resides there: Henry Fogg. He’s dressed in a horrid lime green suit and hasn’t said a word since they arrived besides introducing himself and asking why the fuck they were all on his doorstep. Once Julia had explained the whole situation, he’d opened the door wide and let them all in and disappeared into a side room, closing the door behind him.

“Now what?” Kady asks, looking at Julia.

Julia sits down at the small 70’s-esque kitchen table, crosses her legs at the thigh and smiles across the room at her. “This is it,” she says. “There’s nothing else here.”

Eliot spins around the room once more, eyeing the putrid yellow wallpaper, tiny black and white television permanently playing the news, and couch with numerous springs sticking out through the stuffing, and tries to picture spending the rest of eternity here, with a man who so obviously resents their very presence. It’s…not great.

“It’s better than being tortured, right?” Eliot asks, settling down at the table across from Julia. With a resigned sigh, Kady follows suit, linking her fingers with Julia’s, and surprisingly, Eliot’s own. He squeezes hers gently. She squeezes back.

“It’s better than being tortured,” Kady says, but the grimace she wears as she looks around the room implies that maybe this is the torture.

***

Alice comes to them the next morning, knocking assertively on the door. Margo jerks up in the bed just a second after Quentin and immediately begins scrambling after him when he vaults to the door. He looks ragged, still in yesterday’s clothes. Margo doubts she looks much better. When he opens the door to see Alice standing there, his shoulder slump, but he stands back to let her in. An unfamiliar woman follows her in, bashing the door into Quentin’s forehead when he tries to close the door. Quentin rubs his forehead, eyebrows creasing in unexpected pain.

“Where are they?” Alice demands, eyes hard.

Margo and Quentin exchange a glance, eyeing each other long enough that Alice begins tapping her foot impatiently, prompting Margo to speak. “We don’t know.”

“You don’t know, or you won’t tell me?”

“We don’t know,” Quentin says, frowning petulantly over at the unknown woman. “Who’s this.”

“She’s from the bad place,” Alice says. “Marina?”

Marina smirks, hands on her hips as she looks over at them with a raised eyebrow. Margo wants to claw her eyes out. “The way I see it, you two have done just as many bad things since you’ve gotten here, what with harboring two people from the bad place.”

“I didn’t—”

“So, this is how we’re going to play it,” Marina says, talking right over Margo. “Either we find those two and drag them back to where they belong...”

She trailed off, walking up to Quentin and caressing his cheek, bopping his nose condescendingly when he pulls away. “Or?” he asks.

She steps over to Margo now, tucking Margo’s hair behind her ear with a caress and leaning in to whisper in her ear. Margo doesn’t move away, refuses to give her the satisfaction. “Or we’ll take the two of you instead.”

Well, fuck.

***

Kady’s lounging on the couch, cleaning underneath her nails with a switchblade when Julia sits bolt upright, knocking Kady’s feet off her lap.

“Julia?” Kady asks. She leans across the space between them to put a comforting hand on Julia’s arm, but Julia stands up, shaking it free, eyes wide and unfocused.

Eliot stands from where he’s been sitting at the table, staring down at his hands. He walks into the living room, hands ringing. “What is it?”

“A message from Alice,” Julia says, then she opens her mouth and speaks.

Kady’s eyes widen when it’s not Julia’s voice that comes out of her mouth, but Alice’s. “Mr. Waugh and Ms. Orloff-Diaz, I know you can hear me. If you’re not back here in two hours, I’ll have no choice but to let the bad place representative take Ms. Hanson and Mr. Coldwater in your stead.”

“They can’t do that,” Eliot says, but his eyes are wide and panicked.

“They can do whatever they hell they want,” Kady says, standing from the couch and staring at Julia, waiting to see if Alice is done.

“Turn yourselves in, or sentence two innocent souls to the bad place.” Alice’s voice cuts out. They stand in a semi-circle, nobody saying anything for an endless minute.

“What do you want to do?” Julia asks, and it’s really her this time.

Kady slings her arms around her waist, relieved. It’s her. Alice can talk through her, but she can’t take her. It’s her. It’s really her.

“We have to go back.” Kady turns toward Eliot, not letting go of Julia. He’s looking down at his shoes, biting his lip, eyes wide with panic. “It’s Margo and Q, Kady. We have to go back.”

Kady doesn’t want to. She has Julia with her, here and now. And Eliot. They’re safe, but she owes those two, Margo who she wasn’t good enough for, and Quentin who tried so hard to help her. She owes it to them, and Kady has done a lot of bad things, but she always pays her debts.

“Yeah.” She reaches out to take Eliot’s hand, still not letting go of Julia. They’ll finish this the same way they started it: together.

***

Quentin’s starting to get nervous. It’s been an hour and a half with Marina lounging on their couch, shoes on the cushions in a way that’d make him scold anyone else, and there’s still no sign of Eliot or Kady. Not that he can blame them—the bad place is literally hell. But he doesn’t want to go there, can feel his pulse ratcheting up at the thought.

Margo’s been pacing the width of his small living room for the past hour, biting her nails down to the quick in an uncharacteristic display of nerves. Marina smirks every time her nail beds bleed, melting into the couch, as if the more their anxiety ratchets up, the more cool and collected Marina becomes. Alice ignores them all, sitting at the table legs crossed regally and staring at the front door. 

In this moment, Quentin hates them all. Because no matter how this ends, they can’t win. Either Eliot and Kady will be gone forever, and he’ll be alone in this place, after all they’d been through together, or he’ll be in the bad place, losing himself to torture and pain for the rest of eternity. And yes, one of those is obviously so much worse than the other, but it’s a zero-sum game. Sunk before he’s even started.

But then, there they are. Kady and Julia, hand in hand, Eliot right behind them, slinking into their house like he’d never left. Quentin thinks of waking up, content and happy in their shared bed, only to go cold as the hours progressed with no sign of Eliot. It had hurt, hurts still even now, as Eliot refuses to meet his eyes.

Marina stands from the couch, a predatory gleam to her eyes as she saunters up to the trio by the door, heels clacking menacingly with every step.

“This must be them,” she says, lips pulled into an insincere grin. She leans into Kady, face uncomfortably close to her neck as she takes a deep breath. “I can smell it on you. You’re a bad girl, aren’t you?”

Kady takes a step back into Julia. Quentin can’t blame her. Marina is terrifying, and to have all that menace directed right at you is enough to make a hardened criminal wet themselves. Eliot looks damn near ready to back right out the front door and never look back.

Marina pivots to look at Quentin and Margo, smile growing wider. “Too bad they’re three minutes late, isn’t it?”

“Why does it matter?” Eliot asks, buffing his nails on his shirt indifferently, but Quentin can see the tremors in his hands. “We’re here, aren’t we?”

“Well, a deal is a deal, isn’t it?”

Eliot finally meets Quentin’s eyes—panic mixing with relief mixing with a bone-deep regret. Quentin wants to hold his hand. He doesn’t.

“Luckily for you, I’m feeling generous,” Marina says.

She leans down to Quentin, caressing his cheek familiarly. He feels queasy, wants her hands off him by any means necessary, but when he leans away from her, back into the arm of the couch, she slaps him once lightly, then twice more, hard enough to sting. Eliot takes a few quick steps toward them, but Marina’s turned by then, placing her hand familiarly on Eliot’s chest to stop him. Quentin wants to tear off her arm and beat her with it.

“You’ve all been very naughty.” She tweaks the buttons of Eliot’s shirt, fingers brushing the bare skin underneath. “So, I’ll take any two of you. You have twenty minutes to decide,” and without further delay, she hauls Alice out of the room with her and barricade themselves in Eliot and Quentin’s bedroom. The silence in her absence is deafening enough to echo.

***

Eliot lets the silence settle around them for a few minutes before he can’t take it anymore. “At least Miss Bad Touch is out of the room.” Quentin snorts from the couch. Unable to even look at him, Eliot looks over at Margo. Her arms are crossed, her foot tapping away, and glare ferocious enough to make him take an involuntary step back.

“Well, obviously you two are the ones that have to go,” she says, uncrossing her arms to point her finger first at Eliot, then to where Kady and Julia are still clustered together behind him. “You’re the ones who aren’t supposed to be here.”

Eliot feels his gut clench, as she looks down at her fingers, dismissing their very presence as she buffs her nails, like they’re dirt on her shoes. No, even worse than that. She would care if there was dirt on her shoes. They’re nonentities, pointless, not worth mentioning at all.

“Now wait a minute!” Kady says, stepping in front of Eliot. Julia reaches toward her as if she wants to pull her back and hide her away. He finally looks at Quentin and feels something deep within him ache at the way he won’t even meet Eliot’s eyes. “You heard the lady. She said she’d take any of us. That means we’ve all got an equal right to stay.”

Julia steps up beside Kady once more, linking their arms in a quiet show of solidarity. Eliot backs toward the front door, leaning against it to listen to them all argue away the last moments of their torture-free lives.

“I’ll go,” Quentin says, sighing. He pats his hands firmly on his thighs, standing decisively. “I enabled all of you and kept your secrets even when I knew it was wrong. I deserve to go.”

“Oh please, Quentin,” Margo says. “You’re the biggest goody two-shoes I’ve ever met.”

“Whatever Margo. Do you want to go instead?”

“Might as well, right?” she replies, a rictus grin spreading across her face. “My soulmate up and married someone else.”

“It’s not like you even wanted me,” Kady scoffs, leaning into Julia’s side even more firmly.

“I told you, it’s not about you!” Margo shouts. “It’s not my fault this fucked up version of heaven decided to pair us off like some undead version of Noah’s ark.”

“Well, it’s not mine either!” Kady steps away from Julia once more, stalking toward Margo with violent steps, making Eliot wonder if the fight was about to turn physical. “Maybe I should go! Clearly there’s something wrong with me if the only person who wants me around isn’t even a human!”

“I want you around,” Quentin mumbles while Julia lurches back as if she’s been struck. Neither of the yelling girls seem to notice. 

Maybe they should all go to the bad place. If this is the best that the good place had to offer, did they even want it? And that’s all it took, like a lightbulb flicking on with the brightness of a supernova. It all comes into perfect clarity. He gasps, falling further into the door, eyes staring blank and unseeing in front of him.

“Are you okay?” Eliot jolts back into the present to find that Quentin has made his way over to him, a worried little wrinkle between his brows. Behind them, Kady and Margo are still flinging insults at one another, Julia trying futilely to mediate.

“Quentin,” Eliot says, voice quiet and breathless. He reaches out his hands to clasp Quentin’s almost tightly enough to hurt, desperation coursing through him. “I’m sorry I left without you.” Quentin opens his mouth, eyes shifting to the side uncomfortably, but Eliot doesn’t let him speak. “I love you, okay?”

Before he can second guess himself, he bends down and kisses Quentin, hand clutching at his nape as he pours all his failures, his desperation, his wistful hope into the kiss. It can’t last, isn’t meant to be, but for this instant, they can have this.

“I love you,” Eliot says one more time, pulling away, already regretting it, but their time is almost up, and for the first time in his life, he wants to face his doom head on, head held high, chin firm.

He walks decisively to the bedroom door, flinging it open before he can second guess himself. He will be brave. The room behind him has grown silent, Kady and Margo’s argument petering out to nothing as Alice and Marina walk into the room, the latter still smirking superiorly at him.

“Well?” Alice asks. “What have you decided?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Eliot asks. “None of us are leaving here, are we?”

Marina’s smirk drops. Alice’s eyebrows furrow. Quentin’s fingers find his, entwining and squeezing firmly. Eliot takes a deep breath and continues. “You can’t take us to the bad place. We’re already here.”

Margo and Kady immediately demand answers, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Alice. Her expression is full of confusion and shock, but her eyes are cold and angry. She doesn’t say anything. “I’m right, aren’t I?” He stares into her eyes, refusing to back down, refusing to break when Quentin is by his side, despite everything he’s done.

Then, Alice laughs. It sounds mean, harsh in ways she’s never been before. Kady and Margo are quiet. Quentin’s palm is sweating, but he doesn’t let go. “God, Eliot,” Alice says with a roll of her eyes, “you ruin everything, you know that?”

“Wait, he’s right?” Margo asks.

“Think about it” Eliot replies, turning his back decisively on Alice and Marina—he will be brave. “This may look like paradise, but it’s really a petri dish of all our worst nightmares. I’m surrounded by a bunch of people who are literally better than me. Margo’s been stuck with a soulmate even though she’d rather chew off her own arm then suffer through a romantic relationship. Quentin’s stuck teaching me and Kady and trying to hide the fact that we don’t belong here, and it’s given him the biggest ethical dilemma of his entire life. And Kady’s stuck living with someone who’ll never love her with nowhere to belong. Not exactly heaven, now is it?”

He turns back to Alice, pulling Quentin along with him. No one speaks as he stares her down.

Marina’s dramatic sigh broke the tension. “And what are you going to do to clean up this mess, little miss Alice?” she asks, whispering seductively into the other girl’s ear.

Alice looks away from Eliot, gaze shifting to Quentin. Eliot steps in front of him, blocking her view. She just smiles amusedly and looks behind them to where Margo and Kady are now standing next to each other, issues cast aside in the face of a new foe.

“I’ll do better next time,” Alice says, turning to Marina, clearly dismissing all of them. “Clearly, I should have let them keep their distance, let them come together slowly to torture each other, don’t you think?”

“You’re out on a limb here, Quinn.”

“I know. This is just a trial run. Won’t you let me try again?” she asks, eyes going wide and innocent.

Marina laughs. “Alright, but this is your last chance. Fuck it up again, and you’ll find yourself retired before you even have time to blink.”

“What do you mean, next time?” Kady demands, storming forward to stand beside Quentin, eyes blazing.

“Why should I explain anything to you when you won’t remember any of this?”

Eliot takes a step back, heart beating through the ribs in his cage at the dawning realization that he’s lost all control of the situation—if he ever even had any. “What the fuck is that supposed to m—”

Alice snaps her fingers, and the words fade away. Everything does. He can no longer feel Quentin’s hand in his, can’t even seem to feel anything at all. Alice Quinn snaps her fingers, and Eliot Waugh is gone.


End file.
